Chapter 4 The Beginning of the End
The Beginning of
the End
One Year Ago
I
enter Ms. Ferner’s room for our usual training. I’m not prepared—I rarely am. I worry about what will happen on the day that she pushes me too far, demands that I command her to do something more than feel angry or sad.
Worried for the day that I commit another atrocity.
But as I open the door, Ms. Ferner isn’t what I see. It’s blonde hair tied in a neat braid down a girl’s back, and shaking hands standing where Ms. Ferner ought to be.
“Calista,” I greet her.
We’ve shared a suite for years, and I hardly know her. But she’s a Folk. There’s no reason she should be in here, where they teach the Eunoia.
Then I notice the blood seeping through her blue academy uniform. The shaking breath in my chest, mimicking hers.
I step forward, throwing my bag on the nearest chair. “I can help.”
Calista opens her mouth, but her lips quiver, and no words escape. When she realizes the state she’s in—in front of me, no less—she grows embarrassed.
Then, tentatively, she nods.
Carefully, I guide Calista to a desk. It’s only a little cut, I tell myself. It isn’t deadly—it isn’t beyond my control.
It’s only a little blood.
Calista takes off her academy jacket, revealing the gaping wound in her forearm. Nearly to the bone. I almost faint—but I think it’s her dizziness. Now, I understand why she won’t speak.
She’s worried she’ll bleed out.
I rise, running to Ms. Ferner’s stash of herbs and quickly rubbing some into Calista’s wound. She bites back a scream, and the ball lodges in my throat, begging for release.
Carefully, I take off a glove, healing her wound until I’m sure I’m going to pass out, too. When I finish, I slump back in the chair, my head falling back. I’m suspended in a moment of exhaustion. The weight of her wound has drained me.
It’s silent—nothing but ragged breaths—for a long while.
Finally, Calista says, “Thank you.”
I pull myself upright, but Calista is staring at her arm, pinching the stitched skin.
“What happened?” My voice is barely a breath.
She glares at me. “You have no right to ask.”
Her tone is angry. Her emotions, not so much.
I raise an eyebrow, holding her gaze, but I don’t respond. I pick up my bag and start toward the door.
“My apologies,” Calista calls once I’ve nearly reached the exit.
Glancing over my shoulder, a faint smile tugs at my lips. “That’s a new one.”
“So are people walking away from me.”
“Well, I’m going to”—I gesture toward the door—“unless you want to talk.”
I know she does; I’m only giving her a way out.
“It’s my magic,” she says. “Life has been difficult recently and…”
She raises her hand, her fingers poised and elegant—her magic not so. The ball of energy forms in her palm, turbulent. She’s an Air Folk—controller of wind. Those energy balls should be clear, pristine, but hers is nearly gray, as if the wind won’t cease in her control.
“The emotion, it’s… hard to manage.” Calista stares absently into the ball of air.
I sit at a desk, multiple feet away from her.
Worry hits me—her worry that I’m scared of her. I am, but not for the reason she thinks. If she were to lose control of her magic, I could subdue her with a word.
It’s something else I’m scared of. Something she wouldn’t guess.
“That’s how you cut your skin to the bone?” I ask.
Calista tilts her head to the side, but she finds my question amusing. Her little sphere of gray wind isn’t going to gash flesh.
She rolls her eyes as she says, “I shattered the skylight in the training room.” Then she looks away. “I came to Ms. Ferner because the healers of Visnatus report to my family. My mistake… they could deem me unfit for the crown.”
Her words are bitter; she fears not getting the crown.
“I can help,” I say. She narrows her eyes, skeptical. “My magic is turbulent, too. That’s why I’m here.”
“Says the life bringer,” she hisses, as if it’s an insult. “What can’t you do? Make a tree sing?”
“It’s what I can do, actually.”
Calista continues to glare, her gaze falling to my hands. Realization sparks, as if she’s never noticed my gloves. Even after eight years of knowing one another. Even after years of sharing a suite.
Every other Eunoia needs physical touch to bend emotion.
But not me.
She leans back, smiling. “You control people.”
“Scared yet?” I glance down.
But I don’t feel her retreat. Her interest only grows. I start to hope—foolishly—that this is the beginning. That I’ll make a friend, have a person to talk to. Spend time with.
I try not to focus on the impossible.
Until Calista says, “The opposite.”
And she means it.